See Me in Your Dreams (3 page)

And with his
black hair, blue eyes, that smile, dimple and all...Skelly looked exactly like
a young Seamus McKenna.

"You knew
Moira pretty well, too, right?" Skelly asked, settling a hip on the edge
of his desk.

"Of
course."

"Was
she...
okay
just before she died? I
mean here." He tapped his forehead.

Putting Keelin
on edge. The spacious office suddenly seemed to close in on her. "Gran was
the wisest woman I ever had the privilege to know," she informed him
stiffly. "And that, until the day she died."

"Well,
after
she died, I got this strange
letter..."

"Ah, the
legacy." She relaxed.

"You know
about it, then?"

"I
received the letter, as well, as did my brother and sister. I believe she wrote
what was in her heart for each of her nine grandchildren because her own
children had acted so unwisely."

"Nicely
put," he said, a cynical note in his tone.

And why
shouldn't he be a bit cynical? Keelin thought. An anchor for
The Whole Story
, a televised tabloid
news show, Skelly reported stories that often laid open people's terrible
secrets for all to dissect. Though she didn't care for tabloid journalism
herself, neither televised nor print, Keelin was not about to judge this cousin
she'd just met. Who knew what road had brought him to his place in life?

"You'll
have to tell me more about Moira later," Skelly said, rising. "But at
the moment, I need to get to make-up. I'm taping this afternoon's show in a
quarter of an hour."

"Well,
then." Keelin stood. "I'm at the Hotel
Clareton
–"

"Hey, I'm
not chasing you out. Stay and watch the telecast. We'll do lunch."

Do lunch?
Realizing Skelly meant they should eat
together, Keelin thought Americans certainly had some unusual ways of
expressing themselves.

"You're
certain I wouldn't be in the way?"

"You're
too polite to get in anyone's way."

So, a short
while later, Keelin found herself sitting in a back corner of the busy control
room. Having lived a simple life mostly close to the land, she was a bit
intimidated by all the technology and the fast pace that was part of Skelly's
world. Looking through the plate glass window to the studio, she could see
technicians adjusting lighting and sound equipment. In the control room, others
talked over headphones, while images flashed across the monitors, some at
double speed.

One particular
image caught her interest. A man's face filled the screen. His features were
handsome, strong, magnetic, his expression intense. From the pale eyes looking
out at her as he spoke – the sound was down, so she couldn't hear his words –
Keelin sensed both strength and heartbreaking emotion. She couldn't tear her
gaze from the monitor, and so when the next image flashed across the small
screen, she felt as if she were suddenly sucked inside.

A young girl,
barely a teenager, her light brown hair flying around her pretty face.

Something
about the girl... Keelin felt a strong connection.

Then the
monitor went blank.

And Keelin sat
staring, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the raucous voices in the
booth.

She didn't
know how long she sat there in stunned silence, mind spinning away. It couldn't
be. She was in denial as the show began. Teasers introduced the day's stories,
but the words didn't mean anything to Keelin until the girl's image multiplied
on several monitors.

"... and
then we have a story we see every day," Skelly intoned in an authoritative
voice. "Teenagers vanishing from their homes. But did Cheryl Leighton run
away as the police report indicates, or was she the victim of foul play as her
father, real estate magnate Tyler Leighton, wants us to believe?"

Sitting
through the first two stories and myriad commercials of the half-hour program
was the most difficult twenty minutes Keelin ever spent. She kept telling
herself she was mistaken. There could be no connection. She'd imagined it.

But Cheryl
Leighton had disappeared...and her dream had been of a runaway, the setting
some unknown American city.

On edge, she
watched footage of the girl and her father at some kind of building christening
ceremony, as Skelly explained, "Two nights ago, fourteen year old Cheryl
Leighton disappeared from the North Bluff home she shared with her widowed
father. So far in the investigation, the police have turned up no evidence of
foul play."

Then, before
that same home, a mansion on a bluff overlooking the lake, her father spoke to
the camera. "Cheryl wouldn't have run away," Tyler Leighton insisted.
"She had no reason. She was a happy kid. A normal kid. She wasn't involved
in gangs or drugs. We had a great relationship. We never even fought."

But a flash of
something unsettling in his pale blue eyes put a lie to those words, Keelin
thought. Something he wasn't saying.

Why did he do it? Why? Now that I know, everything is
ruined...

Fragments of
the dreams whirled through Keelin's head. She replayed them to the best of her
ability. In her mind, the girl was fiddling with her bracelet, taking succor
from the familiar sound of the tinkling charms, when Keelin caught sight of the
very same bracelet on the monitor. Her eyes widened as the proof transfixed
her.

Then
his
image returned to the screen. The
father. The
reason
the girl had run.

"All I
want is my daughter back," he was saying grimly. "Home and safe. I'll
do
anything
to make that
happen."

And Keelin
realized she would do anything, as well. This couldn't turn out like the last
time. Dear God, she would never be able to live with herself if something
desperate happened to Cheryl Leighton.

But how to go
about finding her?

Putting her
trust in a cousin who had no idea of what he was dealing with, she cornered
Skelly directly after the taping, insisted they return to the privacy of his
office where they could talk without being overheard.

The moment the
door was closed behind them, she said, "I know you'll find this hard to
believe, but I have a connection to the Leighton girl."

"What
kind of a connection?"

"The kind
I sometimes get through a dream."

"A
dream," he echoed, settling a hip on the edge of his desk.

She'd seen
that look before. Mocking disbelief. Not that she could blame him. Pacing to
assuage her nerves, she told Skelly what she had to. Only the minimum. Not the
details of her worst night terrors. She focused on the current situation,
briefly
capsulizing
both incidents.

"In the
past, the dreams have always been connected to someone I knew or at least
met," Keelin then told him. "This was different. I thought maybe it
was just a simple dream because I had no idea of who the girl was. Or
where
she was, for that matter. Now I
know the big American-looking city in the second dream obviously is Chicago,
because Cheryl Leighton is the girl." She indicated her wrist. "That
unusual bracelet she was wearing in the news footage...I saw it twice
before."

Unable to
discern if Skelly believed her or not, she tensely waited for his reaction.

That he said
"You know this sounds absurd" didn't thrill her.

"The
dreams are not something I asked for or want, Skelly...no more than Gran did. It's
part of her inheritance...at least for me."

He scowled.
"Dad did say something about his mother being considered a bit fey."

"You
don't have to believe, Skelly. Just help me. Help Cheryl Leighton."

"If you really
know something that'll help find her, you should go to the police."

"No
authorities." Once was enough. She shuddered, remembering the
consequences. "I've had a bad experience with that," was all she
would say, though.

"What,
then?"

"First,
help me get to Tyler Leighton."

Skelly was
thoughtful. "That's do-able. He runs L&O Realty." Then his
expression grew shrewd. "I tell you what. I'll make you a deal. I help you
get whatever information you need...then you help me. We find the Leighton girl
and I get the exclusive. We can do a whole program on this case and your
abilities–"

"No!"

"No?"

"Absolutely
not!" Keelin could hardly believe what he was suggesting. "I won't be
paraded before your countrymen like some kind of freak."

"Not a
freak. A sensation. Talk-show hosts will be clamoring for you–"

"No,"
Keelin repeated, more calmly this time. "I won't let you exploit something
that even I don't fully understand." Intending to leave, she moved toward
the door. "I'll find Tyler Leighton on my own."

Skelly put an
arm out to stop her. "All right. I didn't mean to upset you." He
sounded sincere when he said, "I'll help you in any way I can. No strings.
If you change your mind, though–"

"I
won't."

He nodded.
"We'll see."

Making Keelin
think her American cousin was possibly the most cynical man on earth.

Chapter Two

TYLER LEIGHTON WAS ABOUT TO ENTER HIS
BUILDING on north Clark Street after a late lunch that he'd barely touched,
when he heard the rumble of his name. He glanced over his shoulder to see
Nate
Feldman, his chief business competitor, having exited
a chauffeured limousine at the corner, rush in his direction. In contrast to
his exclusive designer suit, manicured nails and styled hair – or what he had
left of it, for the man was balding fast – the ever-present stinking cigar
stuck between his thin lips reflected Feldman's true nature as far as Tyler was
concerned.

"Slumming?"
he asked, for at a recent social event, Tyler had heard Feldman disparage his
location to potential customers. Feldman's office was in the Gold Coast, a real
estate mini-step-up from Lincoln Park West.

Without
removing the cigar, the man slurred, "Hey, what sort of greeting is that
for an old friend."

Never, in any
stretch of the imagination, would Tyler consider them friends. And he didn't
need this aggravation on top of the worry eating him. The only reason he was
working at all was because couldn't figure out a damn thing he could do
personally to get his daughter back. He was working so that he wouldn't go
crazy. Not that he was doing a great job of it. He swore every minute Cheryl
was missing took a day off his life.

"What's
on your mind, Feldman?"

"I wanted
to congratulate you on getting the Uptown job."

Tyler's company
had recently been awarded the management of a classic movie theater of the
thirties that had been boarded up for decades. During its coming renovation,
the building would retain its architectural integrity while being transformed
into a multi-usage arts space. Feldman had bid for the management, as well, but
had lost out to L&O Realty because of Tyler's personal vision for the
place. Again. And
Nate
Feldman hated to lose at
anything, Tyler knew.

He said,
"That's big of you," and waited for the man's real motivation in
seeking him out.

With a show of
exaggeration, Feldman finally removed the cigar and issued a warning. "You
won't be so lucky with the North Michigan Avenue project."

Ah, there it
was. And some said he was a cynical devil. Tyler merely considered himself
realistic. "Do you know something I don't? Or is it some
one
?"

"Maybe I
do, and maybe I don't," his competitor said with a feral grin. "What
I
have doesn't matter so much, though,
when
you're
tied up in that nasty
lawsuit over the Wicker Park incident. That changes the balance of things,
doesn't it? Let's just say I have the upper hand on this one."

Tightening his
jaw – how could Feldman call the death of a kid an
incident
? – Tyler said, "I'm forewarned then."

"That's
the idea."

"But, if you
don't mind, I'll hold my congratulations until it's a done deal."

"Hold
anything you want, for all I care. How about your breath?" Laughing at his
own crude humor, Feldman stuck the cigar back in his mouth and signaled the
limousine driver. "No holds barred on this one, Leighton. Don't say I
didn't warn you."

Tyler didn't
wait until the man crept back into his extravagant lair. He immediately entered
the first floor offices of L&O, from which prime real estate was sold and
luxury apartments and townhouses were rented. He felt all eyes on him as he
made his way to the stairs. Worried eyes. Eyes filled with pity.

Cheryl, baby, where are you?

The agonizing
question followed him to the second floor that held his private office as well
as that of his partner Brock Olander and their administrative assistants. Brock
oversaw the sales and rental part of the business, while Tyler headed the
building management end. Alma, their receptionist, was nowhere to be seen, and
Tyler figured she must be running an errand. He stopped to scan her desk for
any messages...anything about his daughter. Nothing. Maybe on
his
desk...